I placed theparathaon a plate, just in time for thechaito come to a boil. I let it settle down before pouring it into two teacups. I wanted to engage her in breakfast and keep her close as long as I could before she ran into the confines of her work.
“What are you doing?” Aisha comes up to me, her voice louder than even she intended it to be, and I almost drop the tray.
“Jesus, woman,” I say, my heart almost lurching out. “You scared the shit out of me.”
She proceeds to roll her eyes before looking around the empty room.
“Where are our moms?” she asks
“Out. Went to explore the neighborhood,” I tell her before sitting down on the chair, expectantly.
“Then who cooked all of this?” she asks, taking a seat
She keeps a safe distance from me. Or at least tries to. The joke’s on her; she can’t keep me away for long.
“I did,” I say, taking a sip of thechai,and she passes me a surprised look. “What?”
“You cookedAloo Paratheandchai? For me? Plus you are drinking it too?”
I shake my head with a shy smile. When she says it like that, it does seem unbelievable.
“Of course, baby,” I tell her, and her nose wrinkles with the endearment, but her cheeks give away her heart with how pink they turn naturally. With makeup, Aisha looks gorgeous. But without it, she looks ethereal. Like a goddess from the heavens sent solely to damage me and my heart.
Good thing I will let her damage me any way she wants to.
“I don’t believe it,” she says, but I see a hint of a smile coming on her face. Being mean is her love language; I know it.
“Try it and see,” I say, placing oneparathaon my plate too. I don’t like food this oily, but it can’t hurt to try it once.
I hold my breath as she tears apart one morsel and bites into it. Her face remains neutral, but her eyes shine, and that is a good sign. I haven’t seen that spark in her eyes for so long, and the fact that it only took cooking her favorite meal once is insane.
Women are such sweet, simple creatures. It’s us men who complicate them.
“Is it good?” I ask.
She looks at me for a second, and I have never been this nervous for anything. But when it comes to pleasing her, I lose my mind. I want it to be perfect for her.
“It is really, really good,” she says with a smile, one that stretches across her face, the one that brings out her dimples. “Thank you for making it for me.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Aisha,” I say, a pained smile on my face. “You know I love to cook for you. In fact, I love to do anything for you.”
Her eyes flutter, and I know she is having a hard time digesting all this.
“Mom andMaasuggested that we have a movie night tonight,” I tell her. That is a lie. I suggested we do that. But if I tell her that, I know she will find a way to decline it. But she won’t break their heart.
“What movie?” she asks, sipping herchaiquietly.
“Jab We Met,” I tell her. It is her favorite movie. We have watched it multiple times. She always used to tell me that she wished to meet her soulmate that way—the wayGeetmetAditya. It pissed me off, but she kissed me better.
Plus we made out after that, so I have no complaints.
“Okay,” she says, getting up and finishing the last bite. “I will be there on time. It’s you who is late or misses important events.”
I know she probably didn’t mean the words to cut through like a knife, but they do, and I am reminded again of my shitty behavior.
How can I even forget? That’s how it all started.
“I am sorry—” she says, her eyes guilty. “I didn’t want—”
